


So Long, Lonesome

by dear-wormwoods (confunded), hanscomarsh



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stan is still dead sorry guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confunded/pseuds/dear-wormwoods, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanscomarsh/pseuds/hanscomarsh
Summary: At the Derry Town House, Ben and Richie talk about missed opportunities over some drinks. In doing so, they convince each other to take matters into their own hands for once, which drastically alters the course of every event that follows.





	So Long, Lonesome

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate ending Fix-It Fic that blends book canon and the movie-verse together in an attempt to rectify the mistakes of both. We will be heavily picking and choosing which aspects of both we want to keep or alter, but we do tend to lean more heavily on the book. This fic is set in the movie's modern timeline, but the order of events will initially be going off of the novel's setup. Initially we just wanted to write about Richie and Ben drunkenly pining together, but then it grew and grew and is continuing to grow into something much bigger than that. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Ben do some pining over hard liquor and beer.

It had been a _long_ fucking day.

That was the only thing running through Richie Tozier’s head as he made his way down to the Derry Town House bar from his room. First there was that bullshit at the Chinese restaurant, then some more bullshit in the park, and even more bullshit at the library. The bullshit showed no signs of stopping, so the only thing left to do was numb himself to it. Oh, Richie was _very_ aware that he’d already been drinking for the better part of the day, but the situation called for it. They all knew that.

Granted, maybe it wasn’t the best idea in the world for sev - no, _six_ grown adults to collectively get alcohol poisoning the night before… well, the night before dying, but… actually, maybe there would never_ be_ a better time. Might as well, right? It wasn’t like they’d have time to suffer the consequences of fucking liver damage anyway, given that they were about to descend into darkness and… all of that. As for sleep? That wasn’t in the cards for Richie, either. Not at all.

So there he was, standing in the doorway of the very lackluster, pathetic excuse for a hotel bar in the middle of the night. It was nothing like the joints they had back in L.A. - just a drab wooden bar top and a few faux leather booths scattered around the room. No decorations aside from a couple of tacky lobster-themed posters that just _screamed_ ‘You Are In Maine’.

There was only one other bar patron in the room: his old pal, Haystack.

The first thing Ben Hanscom had asked the receptionist once he arrived at the Derry Town House was where he could find the bar. After that session of remembering, of silver bullets _(slugs)_, of vampires, of Stan… he _really_ needed another drink. And it’s not like he could fly back to Hemingford Home for one last Wild Turkey. _Or could he?_ He _did_ seem to have strangely good luck with being on time, but then again, he had a feeling it probably ran out the moment he stepped back into Derry.

This bar would do just fine, anyway. If it had something to drink, Ben was okay with it. He had sat down in one of the stools (the same one he’d use back at Ricky Lee’s), greeted the bartender, and once he was there, the alcohol, like an old friend, pulled him into a soft and quiet embrace in the solitude of his own thoughts. That is, until he was inevitably brought back to earth.

For a split second, Richie thought about turning right around. Ben looked lost in thought, and he was kind of looking to be alone right now anyway, after everything that went down back at the library. But then, there was safety in numbers, wasn’t there? So, he strolled in and forced a smile on his face.

“Haystack!” he said, too loudly - too obviously forced - as he clapped Ben on the back without warning. “Long time no see!”

Ben jumped with the sudden touch and almost spilled his drink. He had not realized Richie was in the same room, let alone right behind him. “Jesus, Richie,” he exhaled. “Not the best time to be sneaking up on people, don’t ya think?”

Richie laughed apologetically. “Yeah… you’re right on that one, Benny boy,” he said, his smile fading a bit. “Definitely right on that one.”

He took a seat next to Ben and nodded at the bartender. “I’ll ‘ave whatever this chap’s ‘aving, good sir,” he said in an admittedly poor Cockney accent, jerking his thumb in Ben’s direction. After a _very_ short moment of uncomfortable silence, Richie cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows suggestively at his friend. “So, what’s a right fit lad like you doing in a place like this?”

Ben smiled and shrugged, shaking his glass a little and taking another sip. "Couldn't sleep," he answered. Ben hadn't heard his own voice sound so tired before, but maybe he just wasn't paying attention. Not until now, in the middle of the night, when everything that had happened, and everything that was _going_ to happen, was almost sinking in… or so he thought. Maybe there was even more to come.

He watched as the bartender poured some of the same bourbon in another rocks glass.

"End of the world kind of feeling," he continued, taking one more big gulp before putting the glass back on the wooden bar with an empty sound. "What about you?"

“Ohhh, you know how it is. The excitement of it all. Too _thrilled_ to sleep,” Richie replied. His grin returned, but it was still canned. In some strange way, he wasn’t even lying. The sick feeling in his gut was strikingly similar to stage fright. Maybe that’s what all this shit really came down to - adrenaline with a twist of dread that they would go out there only to fuck up spectacularly. Only, there was a lot more on the line down there than just a bad paycheck or a few poor reviews online.

He took a swig of whatever the fuck the bartender just gave him and gagged. “That’s disgusting!_ Fuck_,” he said weakly, making a face and setting the glass down. “Terrible choice of a Last Drink, my friend.”

Ben looked at Richie's face and grinned. "What do you suggest? We have…" he glanced at his watch. "Plenty of hours to try."

“You sure about that?” Richie adjusted his glasses nervously. Really, shit could hit the fan at any moment. Hadn’t it already hit the fan? How ridiculous was it for the two of them to be sitting here like this, acting as though IT was following some kind of mutually agreed upon schedule?

He took another sip and made another face. “I’ll stick to beer next. But if it makes you feel better, this shit can’t be worse than whatever the fuck Eddie was drinking earlier.” Richie smiled fondly, looking down at the ice floating in his drink. “Prune juice and gin. He’s really gone off the deep end in his old age, huh?”

“I don’t know, man, maybe it really _is_ healthy?” Ben said as he looked at Richie for a second, then laughed heartily.

Richie glanced over at Ben, his smile widening. “Yeah, leave it to Eds to convince himself chugging gin is good for him as long as it’s mixed with grandma juice.”_ Eds._ The nickname still left an odd taste in his mouth - simultaneously strange and overly familiar, though not unwelcome.

The three of them - Eddie, Richie, and Ben - had taken their time getting back to the hotel after Bill and Beverly went on ahead, laughing and chatting like nothing had changed, like no time had passed at all. As if there was nothing lurking in the darkness. When Richie was alone, when he was with the _statue_, that feeling of falling back in time and being helpless to stop it absolutely terrified him, but when he was with the Losers and the jokes were flowing, it was still so natural. _Comfortable_, even.

So, when they were supposed to part ways and get some sleep, Richie had ridden the elevator up to the sixth floor with Eddie even though his own room was down on the second. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, just… well, one second Richie was hitting a button and the next he was standing in front of Eddie’s door. And then the laughter faded and Eddie looked up at him, his eyes tired and wide as fear slowly crept back into them, like he didn’t want to be left alone. Richie wanted to make him laugh again, wanted to keep pretending, wanted to stay.

His own fear got the best of him, though, so he simply said good night and walked away.

As if _any_ of them could hope to have a good night under these circumstances. Except maybe Bill and Bev.

He laughed to himself despite the aching pit in his stomach and then sheepishly glanced at Ben, as if he could read Richie’s mind. _Sorry Ben,_ he thought, just in case.

It occurred to Richie in that moment that Ben had probably not gone back to his own room either; judging by the condensation beading on his glass and the slump in his shoulders, he’d gone straight to the bar. There was no need for Richie to send him apologetic brain waves - he’d bet good money that those same thoughts had already crossed Ben’s mind, only _he_ wasn’t laughing about it.

Boy, did Richie feel like a dirtbag now.

Ben smiled and chugged the rest of his drink, left the glass on the counter and reached over to pick a napkin from the napkin holder. “How’s he doing now?”

He didn’t know for sure that Richie had gone up with Eddie before, but he had an idea. It was Richie he could count on to know where or how Eddie was when they were kids, after all. And they had been kids a long time ago, for sure, but the same way he had felt in the airplane as he was falling asleep, he was feeling now - the clock was turning the other way around.

“Who, Eddie?” Richie asked, tapping his fingers on his glass nervously. “He’s… trying to catch some shut eye, you know, before we all have to get going.” He thought of the way Eddie’s hands shook when he poured himself a drink earlier, and how reluctant he was to leave the library. “He’ll be alright, he always pulls through.”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turned to look straight at Ben for the first time since he sat down. “More importantly, how are _you_ doing now, Benny boy? How’s Bev?” Richie asked, knowing full well how obvious that deflection was. He never did learn the art of subtlety. “This little reunion going exactly as you hoped?”

Ben raised his eyebrows a little and shrugged. “Different circumstances would’ve been nice, I guess.” He looked down at his empty glass, noticing he had started to make strips out of the napkin between his fingers. He thought of the pain he felt earlier when he looked at _her_ back at the library, that fleeting pain that seemed to be so well known, almost as if it had unknowingly accompanied him throughout his entire life. Maybe it did. Maybe it hadn’t been fleeting at all.

Ben Hanscom had always been lonely, and he never really minded that much. His job and success made up for it, he’d tell himself, and even if feelings weren’t part of his life, he always had the roadhouse and Ricky Lee waiting with a nice Olympia beer, or a nice bourbon whiskey, or a nice rum at the end of the week. The bottles and nice conversations would drown the emptiness, and the pain inside his chest making noises of despair would get quiet and quiet, until it was numbed down enough so he wouldn’t have to care. That was good enough for him.

But it was getting harder tonight.

Richie wasn’t dumb; he knew that his question was in poor taste, of _course_ the reunion wasn’t what Ben wanted. It wasn’t what any of them _wanted_, but they were all here to stay anyway. He also knew he was being selfish by prompting Ben to talk so he wouldn’t have to think about Eddie anymore, and as he watched the way Ben’s demeanor shifted, accompanied by nervous fidgeting and a sullen expression, he felt guilty.

“Ahh, fuck, Ben, I’m sorry,” he said finally, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “Guess there’s a big elephant in the room, huh? We can, uh, talk about it, if you want.”

Emotions weren’t really Richie’s _thing_. He preferred to ignore big elephants, personally, but maybe Ben would rather not. Might as well give him an opportunity to get it out of his system before they both died.

Richie’s voice made Ben snap out of his thoughts, and he promptly gave him a smile. “No, it’s not...” he opened his mouth to say more calming words, _nonchalant_ words, but nothing came._ No lies_. He shook his head and let out a laugh, but it was more of surrender than of joy. Surrender to what, exactly? He wasn’t so sure he wanted to know or mention it out loud, but time was being kind enough to stand still for a moment, and while some of them were resting and others were lost in warm embraces he didn’t want to think about, he figured Richie and him at least had this.

“Guess there is,” he put the strips of the napkin down and shifted in his seat to face Richie better, “Why, I guess there has been one for quite a long time, wouldn’t you say? The big fucking elephant that just won’t stop growing even if you forgot it was there at all.”

Ben reached for his glass but it was already empty, so he lightly knocked on the wooden bar top with his fingers.

Richie whipped around to catch the bartender’s attention. “Barkeep! This man needs another drink!” he shouted, half playfully and half out of desperation. He quickly downed the remainder of his own drink. “And I need a beer, stat!”

He typically tried to avoid using the word _need_ in reference to alcohol, the way he used to with cigarettes, but today was a momentous exception. Never before was _need_ a more proper word to use.

Once they had their fresh drinks in hand, Richie tapped Ben’s glass with his bottle. “To old elephants,” he said wryly, then took a swig. “They really know how to sneak up on ya.”

“To old elephants.” Ben nodded with a smile as Richie tapped his glass. He raised it a little, and chugged half of its contents at once.

In the moments that followed Ben observed Richie, his words and his voice still ringing in his head. It had been years since he last saw his old friend, since the first time he was called _Haystack_ by an active kid with big glasses, big front teeth and extensive repertoire of jokes and Voices. Richie Tozier had always been some sort of mystery, someone that left him in awe and tilting his head at the same time. Ben had gotten accustomed to hearing someone else’s voice come out of his mouth and it was between his jokes and _chucks_ that he had learned about Richie’s long-lasting loyalty, bravery, and intelligence.

Still, even with all the time they had spent together back then, Ben supposed at the end of the day he didn’t know a whole lot about Richie - or about Richie’s _actual_ feelings, really - and that thought manifested a different kind of pain. Ben Hanscom had always been lonely, and he never really minded that much. But was Richie Tozier lonely too? This time, sitting only the two of them at a bar, the night before it all comes crashing down, Ben heard him and realized it wasn’t just another joke, and it wasn’t just another character. It was the voice of someone who _understood_. The extent of that understanding he couldn’t yet discern, but he hoped he could soon enough.

Tentatively, Ben opened his mouth, but closed it again. For a couple of seconds, it appeared he wasn’t going to say anything, until he finally looked down at his glass and spoke in a quiet voice. “You… you do get it. Don’t you?”

“Hm?” Richie’s eyes widened as he tilted his beer against his lips. He wanted to make a joke, now that Ben was turning the conversation back on him with such solemn ease, but the potential for it died in his throat. He set his beer down and let out a steady exhale. “Yeah, you could say that. Not -” his eyes met Ben’s nervously “- not _exactly_, though. I mean, I’m not - I’m not trying to get in your way or anything, Haystack. Not that Bev isn’t great!” He winced, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have said her name out loud. “Like I said at the restaurant, she looks amazing.” _Wow, way to make it worse!_ “As do you!” _Nice save, genius._ “You kids really cleaned up well, for sure.”

A strained laugh escaped Richie and he silenced it with another sip. _Fuck_, it suddenly got really hot in here. He pulled the collar of his shirt to the side. “_Yikes_.” Another laugh. “Yeah, I fucking get it. Different elephant, same story.”

_Not the same, you fucking idiot._ _Yours went to his own damn hotel room, without Bill in tow, Richie thought grimly. Ben’s got it worse, Ben’s always had it worse._

Ben listened to him attentively, nodding along as Richie spoke. At the mention of her name he couldn’t help but feel that foreign and familiar knot in his stomach. _Bev_. Beverly. The thought of it alone made him tickle inside all over again, as well as it hurt.

He furrowed his brows slightly, concentrated, and took a sip, looking away. _Different elephant, same story._ Ben sat there for a moment, drinking slowly from his glass, thinking about those words. Sure, Richie didn’t feel about her the same way he used to feel - and still does. And yet, it appears Richie and him were in the same position and always have been.

So, if it wasn’t Beverly, then who?

Ben tried to remember as much as he could, and the bubble in his brain grew bigger but, somehow, he managed to avoid the headache. The memories flew, suddenly, like water going calm but steady down the Kenduskeag Stream, and floating away he went, dragged by the current, until he found himself thinking of the dam in the Barrens.

He remembered a clear sky, the sunlight sneaking in between the foliage of the trees and bushes around them, and shaking the hand of the boy with glasses, who then fell on his knees in front of someone else.

Who was Richie thinking of, all the times Ben couldn't take his eyes off of her? Whose attention did he want most of all, above anyone else, but couldn't have?

_(“Get up, stop it, you’re splattering mud on me!”)_

Where were Richie’s eyes whenever his own were lost in her auburn hair? Where was Richie’s heart?

Who could it be, if not…

_(“Cute, cute, cute!”)_

_Oh._ Ben blinked and his lips parted, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Not until Richie did, at least.

His eyes searched for Richie’s in silence, and with a meaningful look and a gentle smile, he raised his glass to drink again. “They really got a hold on us, huh?"

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Richie said, but he knew well enough. He practically laid it all out on the table before. At least, more than he ever had before without the safe cover of humor, and Ben was no fool. Amazing how thoroughly he’d forgotten his childhood strategy - that no one would ever know the real truth if he was so blatantly obvious about it that it simply came off as one big joke. Now, sitting here at age forty, he didn't think he could get away with that. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe _one_ person ought to know, before it all came to an end.

He thought of the kissing bridge, of carving careful letters into it when he was thirteen. He thought of the apparition, familiar but somehow_ off,_ that snuck up on him there and told him he didn’t stand a chance.

Then, he thought of the clown.

Yeah, fuck it. One person who isn’t that _fucking_ clown could know. Wouldn’t that take away some of ITs power? Well… if not, at least it might make Richie feel a little less like throwing up.

“You won’t say anything, will you?” he asked, finally, his eyes on the wooden bar top but staring right through it.

"Of course I won't, Richie," Ben answered, simply, like it was the only answer one could possibly have. He looked at him with warm and friendly eyes, and then back at the bar in front of them. "If you don't want me to, of course I won't."

They sat in silence for a while; not an awkward silence and, at least to Ben, not a painful one either. In that magical moment, ignoring the misery of their circumstances, Ben felt an immense amount of love for his friend, who had granted him with such trust. He smiled, imagining they had been allowed, for once, to truly breathe. A good kind of silence. He hoped Richie felt the same way, too.

“Since when?” Ben finally asked. “Do you remember that?”

Richie opened his mouth to answer and then realized, no, he didn’t remember. Of course not - everything was still fuzzy around the edges, even after spending all fucking day reminiscing and helping each other put the pieces together.

“Not really,” he admitted, feeling almost guilty for it. “It feels like it’s just always been there, you know? Like I knew since the first time I met him.” A sick feeling twisted in his gut, saying it out loud with such seriousness. But it was just Ben - _only Ben._ “I just didn’t recognize what it was until… later. I’m not like you,” he grinned toothily at the other man, “never been so good with feelings.”

Ben grinned back.

“It’s hard to figure it out sometimes. I mean, we were just kids. I think… you guys knew each other since even before we all got together, right? ” He sipped from his glass, trying to recall, but the fog was still hard to dissipate entirely. “I feel like I was stuck on her since the moment I met her too. I don’t remember much, but I remember that I’d look at her, only sometimes, when I had the courage to do it. When I was sure she wasn’t looking, y’know?” _She still isn’t._ He shrugged. “Guessed it was better that way.”

“Yeah… you were _always_ looking,” Richie said, laughing. “Not as slick about it as you thought, I’m afraid. At least, not to me. Maybe it was just because I knew the feeling. You know, of looking at someone who was always looking at someone else.” He thought back to those summer days in the Barrens, the ones that had been forgotten until just a few hours ago. He pictured that look of wide-eyed devotion Bev always seemed to reserve just for Bill. It was the same look Eddie always had, so Richie knew it all too well.

Ben was taken aback by this brand new knowledge and his eyes widened a little, but he quickly laughed along with Richie. His laughter died down, though, as Richie spoke, until it was only a subtle, melancholic smile on his lips but missing from his eyes. Richie noticed, but not her. She always had eyes for Bill, the most loving eyes, even now, and if that’s what she wanted and even if it hurts, it was alright by him. “Was I really that obvious?”

Richie nodded and signaled to the bartender for another beer. “Very obvious, yeah. I went about things a_ little_ differently. I’m sure it’ll come as a shock to you, Ben, but I can’t stand feeling invisible. So _my_ strategy was to draw so much attention to it that everyone ended up thinking it was a joke. I think sometimes I even convinced _myself_ that’s all it was.” He laughed wryly. “Worked wonders for my self esteem.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. I didn’t get much why you’d do it, but I remember you were always throwing yourself to the ground around him. You kept calling him cute every time.” He smiled at the vague memory slowly getting clearer in his mind, but then a knot of guilt grew in his stomach. “I didn’t realize what it meant. Maybe if I had… ” his words trailed off into nothingness until he spoke again, “maybe we could’ve talked about it before, even if it didn’t help much. Sorry about that.”

Richie laughed loudly at this and gave Ben a pat on the back. “You really think I could’ve handled talking about it back then? I can barely handle it _now_,” he said jokingly, though it wasn’t a joke at all, and then added in his best cowboy accent, “Ah don’ got no use for yer sorries, boy.”

His smile softened after a moment as his old memories became a little less fuzzy. He remembered the way Eddie laughed until he cried, and the way his own life seemed to revolve around seeking that reaction. “Sometimes I thought that maybe there was some hope. Little things, when it was just me and him alone. But then I’d always ruin it by doing weird shit like throwing myself on the ground, like you so _graciously_ brought up. I pretty much made sure he’d never take me seriously, so it’s my fault, you know?”

It occurred to Richie that this was the most he’d ever said aloud about this, and although he really _wanted_ to stop talking, he couldn’t seem to make that happen. It would be easy to blame the alcohol, but just as he realized earlier in the library, he knew this wasn’t just from drinking. It was that same coked out, frantic energy causing him to spill his guts now. Maybe it was IT. Maybe it was Derry and all the old memories. Maybe it was just Ben and finally connecting with someone who understood. Whatever it was, it was as terrifying as it was relieving.

“I couldn’t get him to look at me like I was a superhero, but at least I could make him laugh,” he continued, the words spilling from his mouth. But he still couldn’t say Eddie’s name, not in _this_ context. He couldn’t put that out in the air like that, not even after all this time. “Or I’d get him all worked up and fussy, that was always great. But sometimes he’d blush. I remember that clear as day, now. That was the best, the blushing.” He shrugged, his own cheeks reddening. “Those things were enough, back then.”

Ben tilted his head, and listened. It made him glad to listen, to know things about his friend that he never thought he’d know and share things he never thought he’d share. When Richie was done talking, he sighed, taking it all in for a couple of seconds, and grinned. “You made him laugh alright. I don’t remember all of it, but I don’t think I ever saw him smile as much as when he was with you. I don’t think I ever saw him so free.”

Richie shook his head. “Nah, you got it wrong cowboy. It wasn’t me that did that, that was just -” He paused, choking on his name again. “He’s just like that.” Except, maybe not anymore. Every time Richie saw him that day, Eddie reminded him of a rabbit caught in a snare. He took a deep swig of his beer.

“I don’t know... what you two had was something else, something only yours. Maybe you just can’t see it, but it was special, I think.”

For some reason, hearing Ben say that was more painful than inspiring. Not just because it couldn’t possibly be true, but because even if it was true, the best years of their lives were spent apart and they would never get that time back. Richie didn't want to think about that right now. So he deflected again. “What about Bev?”

Ben observed him, then looked down. He wanted to say more, but he guessed he would when Richie decided it was time to do so. He took a sip and thought about his question while feeling the bourbon burn go down his throat.

“With her? Well I was sure she was never going to look at me the same, so I didn’t try. How could she, right? I was just some butterball, that’s what I thought as a kid. Of course I realize now how screwed up it is, but that’s what hateful words do to children, I guess. Made me think she was too good for someone like me. And it was obvious she liked Bill, God, how she loved him.” The image of Beverly’s hands brushing Bill’s as they walked away crossed his mind, and Ben hoped she had felt glad. “Sometimes it hurt to see her, and him, and the looks they shared. Like it was something you weren’t supposed to see. But that was okay. As long as I could be there for her when she needed it, as long as I got to see her face light up, it was fine. As long as she let me love her in silence, I was okay.”

He paused and smiled at Richie.

“I wrote her a poem once, did I ever tell you that? A silly little poem on one of those old postcards from the library. I’ve never been too much of a writer, really, I’ve never even liked poetry, but I did it anyway, signed it anonymously. It was better like that, because then she wouldn’t be disgusted, y’know, she’d just be happy. That’s all I ever wanted, and that’s all I want now. If she thought it was Bill, that’d make her dream about him and maybe her dreams would resemble the life she deserved.”

He kept quiet for a moment again. “Maybe she finally will get that life after all. Big Bill and his charms… guess he still has it, huh?” Ben raised his glass and gulped down the rest of his drink with his eyes shut closed, trying not to think too much.

“Yowza Ben, I knew you were a sap but I didn’t realize you were such a _romantic_,” Richie said gleefully. Something about the poem rung a bell, but if there was a memory attached to it, it wasn’t ready to surface yet. He chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Of course you are, though. Bill might be an author but I bet he can’t write romance for shit. And fuck his charms. Guys like that, who people just love because they’re supposed to, they never have to learn how to woo people.” He tipped his bottle in Ben’s direction and grinned. “But don’t tell him I said that. I’m just bitter because with Sandy I really had to work for it.”

Ben tipped his glass towards Richie and laughed, shaking his head. He realized, as he took the drink to his lips, that he had already finished it, yet again. He called the bartender - Louis was his name, he had told Ben when he arrived - and asked for another refill. Louis, looking at both of them with half-worry and half-pity (which he tried to hide unsuccessfully), served Ben some more whiskey and walked back to where he was.

While this was happening, Richie sat for a moment and sipped his beer in silence, mulling over everything else Ben just said.  Christ, he really did love Beverly, didn’t he? Not in a kid's way, either. An adult way from the start. Mature, selfless. Richie didn’t think he was quite on that level himself, even now. When it came to Eddie he was always a little bit selfish, fighting for his attention and bristling whenever he fawned over Bill a little too intensely. Even today, at the restaurant, jealousy shot up his spine when he found out Eddie was married - even if it was to a woman, even if he was clearly unhappy. Richie wanted him to be happy, but more than anything he wanted to be the _reason_ Eddie was happy.

Maybe if he took that chance way back when, Eddie would be happy now. _Free_ \- Ben used that word before. That was a good word for what he would’ve given Eddie. Not just happiness, but freedom.

Suddenly the burning sensation was back behind his eyes, the same kind he experienced in the park earlier,  and he pushed his glasses up to press his fingers against them. He thought of the way ol’ Paul taunted him,  _ ‘Get Eddie to wear his saddle shoes! We’ll play some bop, Richie!’  _ He wasn’t going to bother trying to convince himself it was IT this time, he knew it was about Eddie - it was always about Eddie.

“I gave him a ring once,” he said solemnly, remembering it clear as day as he finished rubbing at his eyes. “Eddie.” _There, I said it._ He blinked at Ben, and wished he had a cigarette. “Some dumb cereal box prize. We were what, nine, maybe? I made such a big deal about it, got on one knee all dramatic and shit, so he got embarrassed and mad… thought I was making fun of him. But he wore it anyway, even when it got too small for his ring finger. He wore it on his damn pinky instead, but only ‘cause he’s a dork and thought it looked cool. And he wondered why he got picked on.” Richie laughed and readjusted his glasses. “He never had any idea how serious I was. It was always easier to be honest when everyone else thought I was joking. Still is.”

_Eddie Kaspbrak._ Richie had finally said it, and hearing it, _finally_ hearing it, brought a smile to Ben’s face. This was truly a side he never knew Richie had. Hell, he hadn’t even _imagined_ he had it. Old Trashmouth, being a hopeless romantic just like him? They had more in common than he ever thought, and it only took them twenty seven years to figure it out.

When he was finished, Ben let out a loud sigh and looked at his friend. “And you’re calling _me_ the sap, Richie,” he joked, and continued with a soft voice. “That was a really touching. I’m sure he loved it. He probably kept it, don’t you think? It sounds like an important thing to keep.”

“Dude, he forgot who I _was_ for over two decades. Even on the off chance it was important then, it was just trash after we left Derry,” Richie replied, sounding a bit harsher than he meant to. Some irrational part of him was _mad_ at Eddie for probably throwing it away, and mad at Ben for daring to suggest it might have been anything but trash to begin with. “This fucking town, man.”

Ben looked down, defeated and a little taken aback. Richie was right, in a way Ben didn’t want to acknowledge, but had to anyway. No matter the moments they had lived or the love they had given, Derry and the curse upon them had made sure everything was long gone, lost in the void of time. Like Richie’s ring, like Ben’s postcard, dreams were a thing of the past. Even so, he was glad Richie told him. If there was one _good thing_ he could take out of their situation, Ben thought it would be this, just this, the truth and trust of an old friend in a late night conversation between whiskey and beer and the secrets shared between them.

_Thank you,_ Richie, he thought, _Thank you for telling me this._ He wanted to say it, but he figured if it was hard enough for Richie to talk about it, it’d be even worse to acknowledge he was doing it, and he was not about to make him uncomfortable now.

Instead, he sent him his thoughts, put a hand on his shoulder, and raised his glass. “To rings and letters.”

Gently, Richie clinked his bottle against Ben’s glass. “Yeah… to missed opportunities,” he said. That was what this really came down to. They could pretend all they wanted that this shit was fucking cute, or sappy, or _romantic,_ but it was just sad. Only sad.

“To missed opportunities,” Ben repeated Richie’s words in a whisper, looking at the shelf in front of them at the other side of the bar while he drank. Richie was right. He supposed that’s all it was, and all they could hope to have, at the end of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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